Q:Where was the last place you felt whole? Describe?
Where was the last place I felt whole… I’m not sure really. Through the years I’ve struggled so much I don’t even recall what feeling whole would be like. I remember small portions of the last couple years were I felt very warm and fuzzy, happy and at peace per say… but that’s not feeling whole, is it?
Whole. Whole is a very interesting word choice because it encompasses so much. A sum of when I was happy, at peace, felt at home, life was good and simple. I think I can say the last time I felt whole was probably back in Quebec in my year between high school and college(trade/technical school by US definition). There my social life was booming; I met so many people and had so many outings. Really, the high mark of my life. The jobs were small ones, nothing to care about, but they allowed me to pay for tuition during the two years after.
I don’t remember much of the bad times then given my evolving positive way of remembering things. When college started the next year, my social life was still good, had many outings with friends still, and I couldn’t get enough of learning what I wanted. From the second semester onward though, things started slowing down, and ever since, nothing has compared to that one year.
As I previously stated, I’ve felt happy and at peace at various points since then. Not to mention the incredible amount of progress becoming an adult. Despite, my day has yet to come, and my fights have yet to end, but we continue forward.
So here’s to us, moving forward, one more step towards wholeness.
Time; For Myself
Honestly, I could use a couple months off to focus on a lot of my personal projects. It’s really starting to irk me that I can’t. Both my boss and my admin know I’ve been wanting to do this, but I don’t know if they’ll let me or if I can pull it off. I’m usually busy enough work that I put in 40h a week.
It’s nice being able to publish websites that you worked on for clients. What’s even nicer is seeing it flourish the way it should — all to many times have sites just sat there because their owners did nothing with it. But we all need time for ourselves and time apart.
“You have time at night…” I hear you say, and yes, I do. Despite that, I adopted the moto “Don’t bring work home” and since work is in essence art and programming, I don’t want to do either when I’m home. I don’t want to draw, illustrate, design, nor do HTML, JavaScrip, PHP, or Bash.
You’ve already seen some of the projects I want to work on(if anyone truly cares about my Tumblr and me), and you’ll know I have many. I get ideas, creative thought processes, incentive to do awesome stuff, but it seems I’ve hard coded that moto within me.
So I sit here. Dreaming. Recognizing I don’t have much energy to do everything I want to. It feels sad, and it might be, but I know who I am, and every day, I’m becoming more acceptant. As long as I can keep my head on straight, I will attain the end goal.
Not Burnt, But Dimming
The constant state of having to work is starting to get to me. Although I leave for California and Minecon on the 16th of November, I’m starting to fall back on the idea of taking a lot more time for myself. Maybe a month? Two months? Time to play games I want to finish. Time to completed projects I have waiting. Time to improve my apartment.
Even with California, I won’t really have time to myself. I’ll always be out, with friends, playing games, socializing, having fun. A well deserved rest, but I still would like time to myself. Alas, money is key. And to get money, I require work. So I’m in this ever spinning, dwindling state until I recover somehow, renewed energy, something.
This has happened a couple times before. I don’t even want to take on new projects — which is what I do to renew energy sometimes.
A year and a half ago, I never though I would have done any of the things I have nor would ever feel the way I do. The only thing I am saddened by is the lack of my hopeless romantics. That, I fear, is locked away for some time. Hopefully it’ll be back when the time is right, but for now I shall enjoy experimenting and having fun.
I don’t trust you anymore. This is why I’m writing this note for you. I’ve watched you, as a friend, dwindle into the darkness. You’re not the person I once knew. And to think, the first sign was you getting a dog.
But that’s not the issue at hand.
How you’ve gotten so heavy into smoking that you are high almost every time you come home.
How I just found out you do acid.
How your friends think you’re getting into drug dealing.
How we believe an intervention is in order before you go AWOL.
How communication has ceased completely between you and I.
How can I trust you after all of this? You’re lies, deceit, and disrespect? I can’t even talk to you anymore. Home isn’t home, I no longer feel safe here. I don’t know what to do other then leave. Maybe watch you from afar, hoping for the best.
Your words are empty to me now.
I’ve become paranoid.
A deceptive illusion?
Past Saturday, as I have written, I went to friends for drinks and fun. It was much more then that. I learnt many things that frighten me.
One of the topics touched that night everyone got wasted at our apartment. The night I stopped drinking(till this Saturday). The night - despite it displeasing me greatly by saying this - I was switching between Argile and myself. Everyone kind of new and saw the switching. But what frightens me is the events before going to sleep.
At one point, Sarah said to everyone: “Take your clothes off…” I had stripped down to my boxers given time and pressure. She kept pushing to take everything off. I was tempted but invoked a rule: no getting fully nude. Argile complied… or so I thought.
This comes as a shock to me, really. I remember very clearly enforcing that rule and not taking my boxers off. Very clearly. When I was too drunk to do anything more then pass out, I went to my bedroom. I was still in boxers. What everyone at that party tells me is I had completely undressed and was fully nude. No, I wasn’t. I fought them, saying I remember enforcing a rule to not drop my underpants. And that is the truth to me.
I asked how could this be. I clearly remember not taking them off. So I asked: “Who was it?” Ramy answered with Argile.
Here’s the thing really. When ever I switched, I would still remain fully aware of my actions. I wasn’t me, but I knew what was going on. As for my rules, it’s a power thing. Enforcing them grants me power and satisfaction. I took a lot of pride in not succumbing to Sarah’s will and undressing. So when everyone tells me I did differently, and that I was Argile when doing so, I can only assume that I hallucinated staying partially clothed.
This is the first time my memory has been potentially tampered with. I don’t like this at all and it better not happen again. After all, it’s just my sick twisted mind wanting something more as none of it is real.
I’m a bit paranoid. I run insane scenarios through my head. The one that’s been going on for today has been how quickly things can go from a friendly down to earth conversation to a full on fight that can ruin a friendship and someone’s life.
I don’t trust him anymore. I’ve already said that. Alas, it seems he doesn’t trust me either. Lies and finagling. My paranoia is telling me to do something that would clearly display my lack of trust if things ever escalate to a certain point. And I tried to do so…
For “protection” - more so his then mine - Paul brought his 9mm. When we moved in, he showed me where he placed it and we set code words. He’s pulled it out a couple times since then to clean it. The humidity gets to it and the metal starts rusting ever so lightly. The problem is, just now, it’s not where it should be.
So now, we have a gun somewhere in the apartment that’s fully loaded - bullet in the chamber - and I don’t even know where.
Smoking pot in the apartment when I explicitly said no is one thing. Lying to me - but more so his fiancee - about a lot of things means he needs help. Doing acid and probably getting into drug dealing is leading to an intervention. Not knowing where his gun demonstrates I need to find a new apartment.
I don’t care if he took his gun out of the apartment, he should have told me.
I don’t care what his rebuttal is, lying to me is disrespecting me after everything.
I care about him and his well being, but his fiancee won’t be left in the dark again.
And so, more paranoid thoughts ensue.